


A Real Dry Year

by clightlee



Category: Star Stable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:04:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clightlee/pseuds/clightlee
Summary: Librarian Carina Lightlee is struggling to keep her family's land viable when a chance encounter with a desperado gives her the opportunity to change her future.





	A Real Dry Year

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd give Carina a little backstory, because how DOES a librarian become a bounty hunter anyway?

Carina Lightlee stood and wiped the muddy sweat from her brow with a filthy sleeve. The summer sun was on its leisurely dip down towards the Red Hills West of New Jorvik, but it still burned hot on her back and on the rows of plants stretched out before her. Hardly the restful weekend she’d needed, but then again dusting the stacks and helping townsfolk look up books in the catalogue at the New Jorvik Library wasn’t a physically taxing job, most days. She secretly relished the grime and the labor.

 

“Gotta do one more row,” she panted, directing this comment towards her horse, Brightstar. Brightstar raised his head from where he’d been lipping listlessly at some rabbitbrush, parched of its cheerful hues by the drought that summer.

 

Carina squatted in her furrow, squinting down the row of dusty stalks. Her carrots might be salvageable; the potatoes would be fine, deep down like they were, but the beets…

 

As she set to yanking weeds from the cracked earth, with more force than was really necessary, her mind wandered back through the years, back to better days when the ground smelled of rain and roots and didn’t blow away in the wind.

 

She remembered the day she’d stepped off the train, fresh from University, three years ago, to a troubling scene. She’d been warned by the letters from her parents and brothers and sisters about the drought, and the houses along the Big Silversong river still had their green lawns and their shade trees. But the rest of town had a thirsty look to it. Tumbleweeds roosted in the fences. Dust devils swirled in the road, and the usual bustle of farm carts was strangely absent.

 

Her family greeted her with drawn faces. When they reached the Lightlee farm, nestled against the Red Hills, she immediately noticed that the livestock were gone, the fields all but bare.

 

“We’re moving East,” her father had told her, dejection coloring his voice. “This is the second year we can’t beg, borrow, or steal enough water to keep up the crops. The land’s going once we’ve settled someplace else. Didn’t want to move, though, until we had you home.”

 

“But this is our _home!_ ” Carina had been born in the frame cabin on this land, had learned to ride in between stalks of corn as high as her horse’s ears. She’d cried for its sights and sounds and smells every night for the first month she’d been in New Stockholm; she’d never dreamed of living anywhere else, once she’d had her diploma in hand. Right now, in the pocket of her travelling coat, was a letter offering her the post of town librarian in New Jorvik. It had been meant as a surprise for her family; now she forgot it, a popped balloon withering in the sun.

 

In the end, she’d waved to her family as they trundled away towards civilization. Brightstar, who’d never had to pull a plough before, learned to help her till the fields. She devised a new system of pipes and ditches, dead set on forcing just a few bushels of wheat, just a single row of cabbages, to survive the summer heat. If she could only make enough to pay the farm’s taxes, she could survive the drought to try again next year. Between her weekly pay as librarian and a little bit of yield, she might just have enough.

 

 

… 

That was a year ago. Now, she was fighting an uphill battle against rain that never seemed to come. But maybe tomorrow-

 

“Hey!”

 

Carina sat bolt upright so quickly that her wide-brimmed hat bounced from her head and rolled into her pumpkin patch. Blinking blindly without its shade, she whipped around to see a rider silhouetted, watching her from the edge of the field.

 

She rose quickly and gave a low whistle. Brightstar ambled over to her; a scabbard on his saddle held her shotgun, always close by in case of varmints. Or worse.

 

“What do you want?” she demanded, walking just close enough to get a better look at the rider. She could see that it was a man, burly, slouching, but his clothes, hair, skin, horse, and equipage were all one color: dirt.

 

“Nothing to fear, ma’am,” said the rider deferentially. “I’m just a thirsty traveller looking for a drink.”

 

 _No shit._ “That it?” she asked, grabbing a canteen from Brightstar’s saddlebag and tossing it easily to the rider.

 

He caught it and gulped the entire thing in one breath. “Much obliged. Now that you mention it, iffin you happened to have a barn and a spare blanket-”

 

She _tsked._

 

“-or some spare food lying around…?”

 

“I’d like to help you, sir, but I’m not sure I can trust you,” she said evenly. “I don’t have much to steal, but I think you mean me harm. I’d think that any honest traveller could afford to ride the two miles into town, and find himself a clean bed, a cold drink, and a full meal without scaring local farmers to death.”

 

“First off, you ain’t a farmer,” he said. She could hear the wry smile in his voice. “Second, I ain’t a thief. At least not from the likes of you. But you got me- I can’t show my face in town. Fact is, I’d like to lie low for a night or two, give my horse some peace while a little trouble blows over.”

 

In a flash, Carina had shoulder-checked her shotgun from its scabbard and had it pointing straight at the rider’s chest. “First off, you’re wrong. I’m many things, but right now, farmer is one of them. Second, I think you’d better clear off before I blow your head clear off.”

 

The rider held up his palms. “Please, ma’am,” he said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “I come in peace. I’m running from some bad men. All I ask is some quiet.”

 

Carina weighed her options. On the one hand, she was all alone out here, vulnerable. On the other, this was a man in trouble, hunted; more vulnerable. She sighed and lowered her weapon.

 

“Fine. I’ve got an empty henhouse you’re welcome to. I’ll turn your horse out in our hill pasture, if you want him to be hidden from the road.” She turned to go, then reconsidered. “I’m a light sleeper, and keep a pistol under my pillow. Set one foot inside my house, and you’re done. I’ve already given you your warning.” She grabbed Brightstar’s reins and started leading him back to the house.

 

She heard the rider creakily following her down the furrow, but didn’t look back until they’d reached the dooryard. He kept his distance. Then, before going indoors, she relented and turned to face him.

 

“Dinner’s at six,” she said with a small smile.

 

…

 

His name was JP, and, once she’d given him a basin and a cup of precious water to clean up in, she saw that he had flame-red hair and freckles. She set a plate of bread, cheese, and some of the stew that had been simmering all day in front of him, and watched him inhale it without pause. He must have burnt his tongue.

 

“We’re not part of that Smuggler’s Roost set,” he was explaining to her. “My friends and I operate on our own, and we have one very clear goal.”

 

“Eating charitable farmers out of hearth and home?” Carina asked drily.

 

“That too,” he grinned. “Got any more?” Carina wordlessly scooped him another ladleful. “We’re trying to disrupt the corrupt mining bosses ‘round here- unionizing, striking, a bit of light sabotage.”

 

“Why? They kill a cousin of yours?” Carina asked with a snort.

 

“’We stand for what we stand on,’” quoted JP. “We hate what they’re doing to the land, and what harm they cause to the people who live on it.”

 

Carina sighed and rose. “High-minded sentiment. I admire that. Me, I’m just busy trying to keep a scrawny parcel feasible in these dry times. And keep the townsfolk quiet in the library, but that’s child’s play in comparison.”

 

“We could help you!” JP brightened, swivelling to follow her as she bustled around the small kitchen, clearing the dishes. “I bet you’re at the end of your irrigation line, yeah?”

 

Carina eyed him. “Yes?”

 

JP was nodding.  “This man called Kembell’s been buying all the land nearest the floodgates. Hogging all the water, taking more than his fair share. He’s already driven out the small farmers surrounding New Samso, I take it he’s moving in on New Jorvik next.” He took a long drink of his water. “We won’t forget that you helped me. You’ll get your water.”

 

…

 

 

JP stayed hidden on the Lightlee farm for a few days, and then one morning he’d left.

 

Carina kept waiting for her water to magically appear. But before it could, another vagabond showed up. This time it was a slight woman, dressed head to tow in faded black. She rode up in a clatter of hooves just as Carina was turning down the lamp.

 

“What do you want?” she asked, this time opening the door shotgun in hand.

 

“I’m a friend of JP’s,” the woman said breathlessly. Her accent hinted at roots South of the border. “I’m being followed. He said you, too, were a friend.”

 

So S, as she introduced herself, took up residence in the henhouse, and her horse spent a few days back in the hills, drinking from the spring and grazing on what forage remained. Their meals were silent, but when S left, Carina found a small mound of coins in the henhouse weighing down a note that said _we won’t forget your water._

 

Soon, Carina had set up a small cot and bedding in the vacant henhouse. She concealed a key to her house under the eaves; she left a pile of books, one commodity that she had in abundance despite the drought, next to the cot. That way, if any of her friends happened to come by on a weekday when she was in town at the library, they’d be able to settle in. They appeared at random, broke bread with her, then disappeared in the night.

 

One day, as she was riding her fences along the road, a patrol of uniformed riders trotted up the road in a cloud of dust. They weren’t wearing Ranger insignias, nor were they any of Dorian’s assistants.

 

The leader tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am. You happened upon any desperate types out this way? Asking for water, on the run?” He handed her two wanted posters. The printed pictures showed, in fuzzy ink lines, faces vaguely similar to JP’s and S’s.

 

Carina knit her brows. The rewards were substantial; $1,000 a head, dead or alive. That would keep the land in her name for another five years, minimum. That would buy her a larger share in the water rights, a new petticoat, a new roof for the barn, and so many books-

 

“Never seen them,” Carina said guilelessly, throwing in an eye-bat for good measure.

 

We won’t forget your water.

 

Laying in bed that night, Carina mulled over her decision. Why was she harbouring two wanted criminals?

 

Friends. Since returning from University, Carina had felt isolated from the rest of the town. She spent her days pacing the stacks, asking for silence and enforcing rigid rules. Her spare time was spent entirely at the farm- coaxing plants up from the barren earth, mending doors and windows, looking down the ditch for water. She had no time for socializing, no time for friends. Until they’d come to her.

 

…

 

One night, she was awakened by pounding on the door. She ran down the narrow stairs, candle in hand, gun in the other, and threw open the door to find JP unconscious, supported by S on one side and a hooded figure on the other. X, as she introduced herself.

 

“He’s been hurt,” breathed S. “Captured by Kembell’s private police. They starved him, denied him water, I don’t know what else.”

 

“They’re after us,” X said calmly. “Can you hide us? Until he can walk?”

 

Carina helped drag him upstairs, fetched food, water, bandages, the ointments and poultices she’d learned how to make from one of Madam Miranda’s girls in exchange for the indefinite loan of an astronomy text. She was cutting the cloth away from JP’s limp arm when knocks once more sounded at the door.

 

“Open up.” This time, it was an order. She returned to the door with her candle and gun. The same shady, uniformed men stood outside, crowded on her stoop.

 

“We’ve tracked the desperadoes this far,” their leader growled. “You seen anything?”

 

Three thousand dollars. “I heard riders heading towards the river,” she said crisply.

 

…

 

Having seen the men disappear down the road, Carina finally let her breath out and ran back up the stairs. X had dressed and bandaged JP’s arm; S had cajoled him into swallowing a few mouthfuls of water. He was breathing deeply.

 

X held up the two wanted posters, which Carina had left on her bedside table. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

Carina sighed and slumped into a chair. 

 

“We can’t get you your water yet,” said X, “but we can do you one better. You can shoot, right?”

 

Carina raised her head and managed a smile. “That I can. And track. And ride. Little good it does me, married to this dry little farm.”

 

X removed a folded piece of paper from a pocket and passed it to Carina. “Until we can get your water, take this. It’ll tide you over.”

 

The paper was another wanted poster, but it showed a face unfamiliar to Carina. It was handsome, dark, too well groomed for these parts. “ANWIR, rustler, kidnapper, and murderer” was printed across the top, and below the picture, “REWARD: $3000”

 

…

 

Once JP was well enough to stand, the three outlaw friends disappeared. Carina waited a day, and then packed her saddlebags for a long trip. She brought maps, a compass, guns, knives, matches, dried food; she was after a bounty.


End file.
